


Late Arrival

by Missy



Category: Army of Darkness (1992), Evil Dead (Movies), Evil Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Babies, Childbirth, F/M, Family, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-18
Updated: 2011-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-23 20:26:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two births, over thirty years apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Arrival

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mochas N Mayhem (KoohiiCafe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoohiiCafe/gifts).



> For Raven.

He was late.

While Ash severed the windpipe of his latest Deadite foe, the same mantra kept playing over and over again in the back of his mind.

He was late. He was screwed.

She was going to kill him, if the damned demons didn’t get to him first.

He crushed the head of one and took out the last – an ex-flight attendant whom he’d been making small-talk in the line with for the past ten minutes. She was a howling, snaggle-toothed demon. “You shall never reach your wife and child! We shall dine upon your souls!” Ash cut her face swiftly in two with his blade, glaring down in calm. He pumped a couple of bullets into the body just to make sure

“Only thing you’re eating tonight is a bullet.” He stared at the corpse while he coolly holstered his weapon and straightened his goo-stained shirt, then stepped up to the teller and said calmly, “I need to withdraw twenty bucks.”

The teller gave him a white-faced nod, taking Ash’s bank card. He smirked and pocketed both card and cash when she returned. “Watch out for the eyeball on your chair.”

With that, he strolled out of the bank, leaving them all wanting barf bags.

***

He was late.

Everyone told Patti what she should do to fix that. Eat hot peppers, stand on her head, have sex with Bob (“Again?” she’d asked her mother, and the poor woman turned purple and started ranting about the price of tomatoes); but nothing had dislodged the baby from her womb.

She’d nearly resigned herself to carrying around inside of her forever, a little helpmeet who occasionally kicked her bladder. It was tolerable, except for the ungodly heaviness she felt.

The morning of the twelfth she felt odd, but not odd enough to make much note of it. She kissed Bob and sent him off to work before making a cake and a dozen muffins.

She realized something was changing when she tossed a second empty container of sugar in the trash –she was nesting like a hen on a fat cache of eggs. Then Patti noted a light squeezing sensation, low in her belly. She ignored it and took the keys to the Oldsmobile.

It would be a ten-minute drive to the movie theatre, but she could manage it.

Her water didn’t break until she was twenty minutes into Gone with The Wind.

***

The brush of his lips against her forehead drew her from the darkness. Dark eyes fluttered open slowly, and in spite of what she’d gone through she gave him a smile.

“Have ye seen him?”

Ash shook his head. “They said something about tests, and bringing him in for some boob juice in ten minutes.”

“Ashley…”

He headed to a neighboring easy chair and sat down with a huff. “all right,” he said, “lay it on me.”

She ran a finger along the inside of his palm – tracing a line of blood running up to his index finger. “Are ye well?”

“Should ask you that.”

“I am fine.”

“But?”

She laughed and shook her head. “But it felt like a fire of agony…”

***

The agony was a fire burning through Patti’s body. She doubled over in the downtown traffic, trying like hell to get to the Henry Ford before the baby starting coming. She charged up the center lane, her feet wedged onto the gas pedal, groaning and moaning her agony. She squeezed her thighs close, but let out a cry of alarm as she felt something slowly press its way from her body. Patti bore down, ripped off her underwear and braced a hand against the dashboard, her numb mind screaming the truth of what was happening to her aloud.

Oh God, she was going to give birth in the front seat of the Delta!

***

Ash watched his wife eat, drink, and boredly watch TV for a minute. It seemed as if days had passed instead of an hour before the door opened, and the nurse arrived with a small bassinette in tow.

“There’s mommy,” she cooed. Eyeing Ash in his rumpled and dirty uniform, she asked, “is this daddy?”

Sheila smiled and nodded, squeezing his hand. “Aye.”

“Congratulations,” she said, carefully picking up the baby and handing him to Sheila. “Good luck,” she added, and Ash snarled at the dig but didn’t say anything.

He stared warily at the small bundle gathered in his wife’s arms. It was blue, and the child barely visible within them was pink-faced, cross of expression, somewhat swarthy and wearing his eyes and nose.

“Shall ye hold him?”

***

His mustache was tickling her awake. Patti’s eyes drifted open as she rose from the ether haze like a reborn soul. “Oog,” she groaned.

“Darlin, you did one hell of a job on him,” Bob said, sitting down beside her, worshipfully running a hand over her hair. (Bob would never get over her; when she passed and left him with the children he was less than a whole man, and everyone knew it). “He’s beautiful.”

“He,” she murmured. “It’s a boy?”

“A beautiful little guy. But don’t take my word for it,” he said. On cue, a nurse appeared with the tiny, well-swaddled baby.

Very carefully, Patti picked up the child and held him to her breast.

“What would you like to call him?” he asked.

She thought back to the movie she’d half-watched before his birth – the classic treasure of the cinema. She worshiped his tiny square jaw, his large dark eyes, and finally conjured the name up. “Ashley,” she said.

“Ashley Williams,” he grinned.

“Ashley,” she murmured, in agreement, and kissed his tiny, pale pink brow.

***

“Dunno,” Ash muttered, staring at the tiny baby. “He’s not gonna break, is he?”

Sheila took his good hand and pressed it to their child’s cheek. “Ours,” she whispered. He looked up into her eyes. It was something she’d often said to him during her pregnancy – words to encourage Ash, to remind him that he wasn’t alone and would never be alone again.

He looked again at the child and held out his arms. “Gimmie the kid.”

Very gently, he held the tiny baby to his chest. So small, sweet-faced, and quiet. He gave the little boy his good hand and his fingers curled around it, leaving him in awe.

“I think,” he said, “We should call him Scott.”

***

 _What did my fingers do before they held him?  
What did my heart do, with its love?  
I have never seen a thing so clear.  
His lids are like the lilac-flower  
And soft as a moth, his breath.  
I shall not let go.  
There is no guile or warp in him. May he keep so._ \- Sylvia Plath, Three Women


End file.
